


Regardless of Intent

by phipiohsum475



Series: The English Mistake [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Horcruxes, mentions of Tom Riddle/Voldemort, mentions of aids, mentions of us politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: “What I didn’t expect was the damage to my reputation. I’d made a deal and got nary a soul for it. With our lot, you get the soul regardless. And I’d gotten stiffed.”This is a series of conversations that won't leave me alone. It will not be a fully fleshed out story.





	Regardless of Intent

“I expected the Riddle brat would renege on the deal,” Crowley explained, “But it was only a few trinkets. Figured I could destroy them to break my end of the bargain when he broke his, and that would be the last of it.

“What I didn’t expect was the damage to my reputation. I’d made a deal and got nary a soul for it. With our lot, you get the soul regardless. And I’d gotten stiffed.” Crowley sat slouched in his throne, the stone dungeon dank and fitting for Hell, and sipped a fine scotch as he spoke. He had already poured himself two fingers, and was working on the next two.

“I was relegated to cheap hustles and dying wishes. Years I spent, pathetically slaving for deals that had been beneath me for at least a century. It’s how that wench Abaddon remembered me when your grandfather fumbled her into our lives. The one with hair, not the one you shot in between the eyes.”

Hermione stood up straighter at the revelation, eyes darting back and forth between the brothers. Though it was worthless here, her hand went to her sleeve, where she could feel her wand through the fabric. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Crowley dismissed, catching her subtle discomfort, “Grandpa Baldie was working with the King of Hell, tortured vampires, werewolves, tried to off his grandsons a few different times. The antithesis of the doting Werther’s originals, arthritic, hobbling with a cane type, if you will.”

“I thought you were the King of Hell,” Hermione frowned.

“That I am. We’ve got a juicy, sordid relationship, the boys and I,” he winked at Sam.

“Just get on with it,” Sam glared. 

“Needless to say, I did manage to claw my way to the top. Those trinkets? Imagine how pleased I was to realise that I didn’t have to destroy them, all I had to do was sever their connection to your world,” Crowley nodded to Hermione. “After which, I had the good fortune of discovering though they were no longer powered by Riddle’s specific magic, they contained a fair bit of residual magic.

“At first, I used them for parlour tricks, turning water into blood, Bigfoot, that sort of thing. But then I-”

“Wait,” Sam interrupted, “Bigfoot’s real?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not really. The perception of him is real enough, if not the creature itself.”

“Like a patronus,” Hermione said mostly to herself.

“More or less,” Crowley shrugged, “But try explaining that to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb here.”

Dean took offense. “You’re Tweedle Dumb… er,” he finished lamely.

“Pithy.” Crowley poured himself another glass and went on, “Hellhounds make you see what’s not there, why not see Bigfoot?”

“Like a holosuite,” Dean suggested.

“The red shirt has a brain after all. Oh, don’t give me that look, you know you’re my favourite.” Crowley turned to Sam and shrugged, “Sorry Moose.”

“Whaddya mean, red shirt?” Dean demanded. Before Crowley could respond, Hermione pinched a piece of Dean’s sleeve between her fingers and tugged. Dean looked down, cursing when he saw the maroon flannel, but still protested. “Hey! I’m still alive and kicking.”

“But how many times have you died, Dean?” Sam asked.

“Oh, now you’re on his side!?”

“No, Dean. I’m not on any side. I’m just saying, he’s got a point.”

“And that’s different how?”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath as Sam and Dean continued to bicker. 

“I know, love,” Crowley commiserated, “They’re always like this.”

Hermione waved her hand in their direction, “Ignoring them, how is Bigfoot supposed to get me back home?”

“That’s where it gets interesting. Riddle’s little trinkets and their tricks were just the beginning. Take the golden goblet, for instance. Once I learned it could turn water to blood, I tested it on wine.” Crowley smirked, then looked off into the distance with a faint smile, “Such a fine vintage of blood it made, practically pure. None of the estrogen, fluoride, the hundreds of chemicals floating in the modern meatsuit. The price vampires were willing to pay…”

“Is this a custom of this universe? The complete inability to hold a conversation?” Hermione crossed her arms and her eyebrows looked as though they were trying to escape into her bushy locks. 

“Try to weave a scintillating tale and everyone takes it for granted,” Crowley sipped at his drink with a scowl. He set the drink down, and looked back to Hermione. “So, has-been demon brat that I was in the seventies, I donated the cup to an old Catholic church down in Corpus Christi. Within a year, the church, which had so righteously steered clear of politics, was now the living, breathing embodiment of Jesus-for-guns and the prosperity gospel started gaining ground. The ring? Ground zero for the AIDS epidemic. Even without Riddle’s intent, the magic within the objects was still intensely powerful.”

“Just when I can’t think you can’t possibly sink any lower,” Dean interjected, having started to listen in again at some point, “AIDS, Crowley, really?”  

“It really wasn’t my intent. Recall, up until then, they’d just done low grade magic, something vapid new ages witches pull off without problem.” He nodded to Hermione, “No offense, dear.”

“None taken,” Hermione dismissed, she was confident her world was far superior than anything this world had to offer. 

“So I lent the ring to a demon who had a thing for hate sex. One thing led to another, and there I was, praised for increased soul flow to Hell. Of course, contrary to what the Moral Majority would have you believe, people were just dying faster, not wickeder. Sodomy had nothing to do with it. Not sure why they’ve got their knickers in such a twist over a bit of anal delight; ironically I really do think we demons have the ethical stand on that matter. Regardless. It brought my stature up quite a bit, and I was back to my well deserved reputation.”

“Well, it worked out for you. That’s what matters,” Dean’s eyes shot daggers and his voice dripped saccharine. 

“All this has a point, Squirrel.”

“That magic can cross worlds. Even if the intent is different, our magic works to some extent in your world, so logically, we can expect some of your magic to work in my world.”

“Clever girl,” Crowley quoted. “I wish even a hundredth of our lot were as bright as you. Now of course, begs the question: How do we use this to our advantage?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make very clear that I am not taking AIDS lightly here. In terms of the absolute evil magic that Voldemort could create, I think it is a good example of said evil. I do not wish to offend anyone, nor make light of a devastating disease.


End file.
